


A Little Cottage By The Forbidden Woods

by drunkinthemorning



Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Developing Relationship, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6768202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkinthemorning/pseuds/drunkinthemorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-/and in her twenty something odd years, the last person Luna Lovegood expected to come across in her garden on that lazy autumn's afternoon - was an unconscious man, with an arm made completely of metal/- </p><p>In which they try to make sense of their current situation, near her cottage by the woods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fun little idea I've thought of. I've always loved the idea of a joyful and quirky Luna, alongside a broken and tired Bucky. She's someone who always sees the good in people, while he, recently escaping from Hydra's brainwashing, was in a bad place of sorts and tormented by many of his own demons. So perhaps, all he needs to heal, is a little "Luna treatment!"
> 
> There's obviously going to be a plot, but it's not something we'll delve into right at the start. The first few chapters mostly revolves around their interactions and growing relationship - within that little cottage of hers.
> 
> I have this idea of a little oasis deep within the Forbidden Forest. Kind of like how the eye of the storm holds a region of calmer weather, it'll be a place where she calls home.

She spotted numerous Nargles in her garden that quiet afternoon; abnormally more than the usual pesky bunch. Autumn had reached deep into the forest, painting the canvas once-green, into vivid shades of yellow, orange and red. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the hanging willow trees, tinting the fallen leaves with different tinges of autumn's touch.

Luna Lovegood pulled her blonde locks back into a single ponytail, the autumn breeze slightly fluttering the colorful summer dress that adorned her willowy figure. Removing her butterbeer cork necklace (as it tends to scare them off), she tiptoed quietly in the direction of the blueberry shrubs where she last spotted the mischievous creatures.

She approached carefully and quietly, not wanting to scare away nor alert the Nargles; their gathering was a peculiar sight, and Luna Lovegood - an easily amused witch, was brimming with curiosity and excitement. She followed them into the shrubs, gently parting aside the leaves as she crawled into the enclosed space, following the disturbed path and coming out from the other end of her garden.

Picking herself up from the ground, Luna was brushing away at the clinging leaves and dried mud when she felt something stirring near the shadows to her left. She turned – and her toes knocked into something solid, prompting a painful yelp from her direction. She quickly pressed her palms to her lips, trying to muffle her startled shriek – but it was already too late, the Nargles have all but fled.

Huffing disappointedly, she diverted her attention back to whatever it was that she had kicked. It seemed to be a metallic object of some sort, glinting softly in the ebbing glow of afternoon's reach. It stuck out from underneath a pile of fallen leaves, like a half burrowed Mooncalf; but unlike the shy nocturnal creature, the object did not seem to be sentient, at least from where she stood.

Yet from its shape, and the curve that resembled much of an elbow, she couldn't help but to picture the object as an actual arm, albeit made of metal. Luna Lovegood had seen weirder, and crazier things; she wasn't the type to judge. She poked it at with her toe, prodding it a few more times but to no visible response. She then planted her arms on her hips and sighed, knowing that she couldn't leave until her curiosity was fully sated; it was perplexing, and she was drawn to every form of strangeness without prejudice.

Kneeling down beside the object, she blew onto her palms and rubbed them together before grabbing the it and pulling as hard as she could. The massive pile of leaves started to shift and wobble - she pulled even harder – and suddenly, something came loose and she was falling backwards, painfully onto her bum.

When she eventually regained her composure and came upon the sight in front of her; silvery-blue eyes widened in complete surprise, there were at least five of them, the rarest of fairy Nargles, circling around an unconscious male - and in her twenty plus odd years, the last thing Luna Lovegood expected to find in her garden on that lazy autumn's afternoon - was an unconscious male, with a metallic arm.

And the fairy Nargles of course, how oddly delightful.

**.**

* * *

**.**

**.**

He saw movement in his peripherals – and he reacted instantly, his weapon brought up to his front, years of training and instinct taking over – two taps, one into the HYDRA agent's chest, the other into the center of the man's skull. He was moving before the body even crumpled to the ground, the granite floor around him exploding as gunfire erupted from above. He darted forward, using the enhanced strength of his augmented arm to vault himself towards cover of an unmarked container.

He followed its length, eventually coming across a locked door that led into the facility's interior. He grabbed onto the doorknob, the gears in his arm whirling as he crushed the object effortlessly and kicked in the door. He entered the darkened interior, his gun drawn and tracking for any additional movement.

He could hear unintelligible shouting, like issued commands, muffled from the floor above him. They were tracking him, trying to draw him out and put him down. He knew they were prepared for his destructive intrusion - after all, he had left a trail of bodies since breaking free from HYDRA's mind control, but the Winter Soldier was hardly a prey to be pinned down; he was a predator, a vengeful force of nature that sought to brutally take the lives of those that had wronged him – and HYDRA did.

They had kept him under their control for almost half a century, augmenting him with their technology, controlling his weakened mind, constantly taking him out of stasis whenever opportunities presented themselves and sending him back in afterwards.

He unloaded his weapon's magazine, but before he could snap another into place, something slammed into the back of his left shoulder, staggering him forward into a roll; the Kevlar protected him, but it still hurt like hell. He grunted angrily and pivoted, returning fire in the direction of the previous shooter.

Wooden splinters erupted around the shooter, causing him to flinch, just enough for the lone soldier to circle around his adversary, finding a clean angle and emptying his magazine into the dead HYDRA agent's chest.

The room fell quiet once more, and it was only then, he heard the soft ticking coming from behind an overturned table. The ticking stopped – and his breath caught, before an erupting fireball consumed the entire facility whole. The explosion tore into him – flinging him from where he stood, the following shockwaves of heat shattering bones and burning flesh.

And the last thing Bucky – the man once known as James Barnes realized before darkness consumed him whole, was that perhaps after all these years, it was finally his turn to rest.

Except it wasn't.

His return to reality was a jarring one – he burst free from confining sheets, painfully heaving as he grasped blindly at the space in front of him. He remembered the trap, the following explosion that supposedly ripped him to shreds. Yet for some reason, he was still in one complete piece - and as he started to examine himself, he soon realized there were no additional injuries either.

Gradually, his eyes adjusted to his dimly lit surroundings, and he saw that he was in a cottage of some kind; it felt rustic, without a modern setting, but still comfortably furnished. It reminded him of the seaside cottage he frequented before the war – a life long passed, and until his recent escape from HYDRA's grasp, all but forgotten.

He tried to stand, but found he lacked the strength. There were no visible injuries, but he felt weirdly detached from his body, as though recently administered a high dose of powerful anesthetic. Slowly, he pulled himself upright, his legs sliding off the bed and onto the carpeted floor below. He tested his limbs, making sure they could handle his weight, but before he managed to get onto his feet, the doors on the opposite end of the cottage swung open – and she entered.

A young woman in a summer dress; she held a basket of fruits in one hand and a stick-like object in the other. She was humming to herself, skipping her way over to the pantry where she placed down her basket. Then she turned – and their eyes caught. She stopped, her head tilting curiously before a warm smile crossed her lips. "Hello there Mister, you're finally awake!"

He blinked, his lips parting for a brief second, but ultimately unable to find the words to respond. Instead, he remained on the edge of the bed, feeling extremely awkward and uncomfortable.

She however, seemed completely at ease. She tugged at her hair's knot, loosening the bow and releasing a headful of pale locks that tumbled down her shoulders. An eyebrow cocked quizzically in his direction. "Did the Nargles take your tongue as well?"

"What?" he stuttered, "Nargles?"

"Guess not, I thought fairy Nargles loved human tongues," she sounded almost disappointed, and there was no hiding how her eyes brimmed with excitement at his presence. She took a few careful steps in his direction, stopping an arm's length before where he sat, her arms crossed behind her back. "I'm Luna, Luna Lovegood, who might you be?"

"I- I'm James… James Barnes," he said before asking, "where… am I?"

"You're in the heart of the Forbidden Forest," she responded cheerfully, "also known as – home!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things I like to note, is that their relationship starts off in a most misunderstood and confusing ( from their ends ) manner.
> 
> They might be from different universes, but neither one knew that about the other. She on one hand, wonders about his lack of knowledge on Hogwarts and Nargles. He on the other hand, wonders if she's lying to him or simply insane.
> 
> As Luna's the sort of person who's extremely trusting and kind, she thinks of him as an injured wizard of sorts that's suffering from memory loss. While Bucky, after all the years of being a HYDRA drone, wasn't actually the best at communicating or interacting with other people. With all that's done to him, I'm quite sure he'll be quite uncomfortable with another's presence, especially hers, and that'll lead to quite a bit of misunderstanding between both.
> 
> One of the main themes I'd like to explore, is with his PTSD. I'm quite sure there isn't a person that could endure 70 years of HYDRA brainwashing and cryogenic stasis without suffering from such a state. And of course, I would like for her to be the one who helps him heal. But first, they'll have to get past the initial confusion and the realization that they simply aren't from the other's world.

"Forbidden Forest?" he stared at her blankly, the name not sounding remotely familiar at all, "am I somewhere in Germany?"

"No silly," she said simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, "the Forbidden Forest? Located near the borders of Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts…?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she suddenly reached forward in his direction. But before she could press her palm against his forehead, he reacted instinctively, grabbing her hand in mid-flight and twisting it down to the side.

She squealed, and her sudden cry of pain brought him out of his instinctual daze, a sharp pull back to reality. He realized what he had just done and quickly released her. "I'm- I'm sorry," he apologized, taking a deep breath and pressing his palms to his face, "I'm not… in the correct state of mind."

She took a step back and remained quiet, but he noticed the way her stare had changed – the curiosity might have continued burning ever strongly, but along came a sense of wariness derived from his unwarranted actions.

"I'm sorry," he said again, apologetically, "there was an explosion… and I can't really remember what happened afterwards. Everything is a messy blur." His arms fell to his side, and there was something deprecatory in his actions. "I didn't mean to hurt you…" he tried to explain, "it's just that I…"

He couldn't find the right words, not exactly. He wasn't sure how he could explain his current situation to her in a logical and believable manner – that he was an exhausted and broken ninety-one year old world war two veteran suffering from extreme symptoms of PTSD. Between the recurring nightmares of war and HYDRA's captivity; the overwhelming guilt and shame of being their personal killing machine for over sixty years; and his suicidal self-destructive behavior since escaping from decades of HYDRA brainwashing – he couldn't exactly find even where to begin.

Fortunately, she spoke before he found the chance to do so.

"No, no, I should be the one apologizing" she shook her head. "I-… I should have asked. I just wanted to check if you had a fever. Nargles are mostly harmless, but their feces tend to be poisonous. Since I found you unconscious, you might have been in contact with those for a while."

"Nargles?" he asked.

"Yes, Nargles," she replied, in that same manner as though it was the most common known knowledge in the world.

"The invisible little creatures hiding in mistletoes?" she said when noticing the quizzical look in his eyes.

He remained somewhat impassive, but he wasn't prepared for such an answer. However, instead of questioning the young woman's sanity, he chose to instead nod and agreed with whatever it was she was referring to. After what he previously did, as unintentional as it may be, he thought it was best not to put himself into any further unfavorable situations – especially being her guest of sorts.

Before he could say anything else, she took another step towards him, but this time in a more mindful manner.

He did not flinch when she an arm out towards him and asked, "May I?"

He nodded, and she stopped right before him, their sudden proximity causing an uneasy surge of discomfort in his chest – and when she pressed her palm against his forehead, he realized it was because of how foreign the action and their distance felt; it had been a long while since anyone last approached him in such a gentle manner. Her hand came to a rest against his forehead, and he could almost smell her, a pleasant mix of blueberries and mint.

They remained in that position for the longest time, and when they separated eventually, there was a slight frown upon her face. "You're a little heated," she said, "but I don't think it is anything serious. I think you'll be fine with a bit of rest."

"But-"

"No buts," she interrupted.

"At least tell me one thing," he asked. "How did I end up here?"

"You were lying face down in my blueberry shrubs," she said as a matter-of-factly, "they did not like it very much."

"I-…" he started to say, but felt a sudden wave of nausea rising within him. He blinked, and she seemed to have noticed his discomfort as well.

She held out an arm, as though signalling him to stop. "We can continue when you're feeling better."

"In the meantime," she added in with a cheerful singsong voice, "I'll start on dinner while you rest. The blueberries are ripe for harvest, I think we'll have pie!"

She started to walk away, and even though his lack of human contact in recent decades might have made him uncomfortable in such situations, he still wanted to be polite, especially to the person he knew provided him shelter. Before she exited the room, he called out to her in a most clumsy manner.

"Umm… Miss Lovegood?"

She turned back towards him.

"I-… I wanted to say thank you," he said. "For helping me, even though you do not owe me anything."

"You were in trouble, I couldn't have just left you there," she said warmly, "and please, call me Luna."

**.**

* * *

**.**

**.**

He woke up a few hours later to the delicious aroma of blueberry pie. The mouth-watering aroma drifted over to where he slept, and his stomach growled hungrily in immediate response; it had been more than a full day since he last ate and he was starving

Resting it seemed, had done wonders for him, and as he got up onto his feet, he realized he no longer felt as frail as he was before. He approached the windows, noticing the lingering glaze of moon's touch seeping softly through the closed curtains – he must have slept for a while. The bedroom where he spent the last few hours was shrouded in weak luminosity, but he noticed the flickering lights of a candle's flame from beyond the closed doors.

He was about to exit the room when he noticed a glass of water sitting by the bedside table beside him. There was a note underneath, and he lifted the glass to take a closer look.

_For when you're awake – L._

He stared at the glass for the longest time, contemplating the insistent emotions emerging from within. It was nothing more than the simplest of actions, but it was real, and her kindness was something he had not felt for the longest time. He drank, and the water quickly quenched his parched throat, but it did little his inner turmoil.

A minute later, he exited the bedroom and entered the cottage's living space. Colorful curtains hung from windows; large sofas were filled with fluffy pillows; and dozens of books sat messily on one side of a study table. It wasn't the largest nor most luxurious of accommodations, but if anything else, it felt comfortable and homely.

He headed into the kitchen, and there she was – standing near an open oven, an apron too large her size and a pair of burnt mittens. She pulled the blueberry pie out of the oven and quickly set the pan onto the kitchen table before tearing the mittens off and blowing at her palms.

Noticing his arrival (most likely from the embarrassing groans of his stomach), she turned towards him with a proud smile, "It's a little burnt… but I hope you like blueberry pie!"

Before he could say anything else, she walked towards him and started ushering them in the direction of the living room. She sat him down on one side of the dinner table before heading back into the kitchen and returning with two plates of food – a slice for her, and three for him.

He couldn't tear his gaze away from the food, but as a form of courtesy, he waited until she started before he did. They ate in a contrasting fashions; she sliced her food into neat chunks and small bites, whereas he tore hungrily into his, without a care in the world as to his own appearance.

It was beyond delicious, and even if he wasn't in such a famished state, it would honestly still be quite out of this world. The pie might have been a little bit burnt on its ends, but he wolfed the entire thing down without even noticing, and when he was done, he realized she was staring at him with the most bemused grin.

She started to giggle. "You must be hungry."

He looked away, slightly embarrassed at his actions. "I was."

"Do you want another serving?"

"If you don't mind," he nodded, "it is delicious."

His compliment prompted a smile from her end, and he could have sworn he noticed the briefest flush of pink across her cheeks. She got up from her seat, taking his plate and returning with another three slices of pie - he ate much slower this time round.

When he was done, he offered to help clean the plates, but she declined, opting for conversation instead.

"I've been wondering," she started to say, "however did you end up in my blueberry shrubs?"

"I don't exactly know," he replied truthfully. "The last thing I remember was an explosion, and then everything went dark."

"An explosion," she repeated dolefully, "there's been quite a few of those around here recently."

"Where is here exactly?" he asked, "where is this… Hogwarts."

She blinked, as though surprised by his complete lack of common knowledge. "Umm… Scotland?"

"Scotland?" _How the hell did he ended up in Scotland?_ He was just attacking one of HYDRA's main facilities in D.C the night before.

"Yes, Scotland." She reaffirmed his question, then asked, "James, are you a soldier?"

"I am," he was a little surprised she knew, "how did you know?"

"A simple guess," she shrugged, "I've not had many visitors to this part of the woods, not since the war."

"War?"

"Mhm, between Voldemort and the Ministry."

He did not know what either of those were, assuming them as nothing more than parts of the British government, but then again, he was a mindless HYDRA drone up till two weeks back. He was not caught up with current day affairs, and all he remembered was his life back during the early twentieth century. Even so, they were in jumbled fragments, remnants of a vicious brainwashing by the HYDRA scientists that tended to him.

"Are you an Auror then?" she asked, "I don't think you're a Death Eater. You don't have a mark, and they generally dislike blueberry pies."

"Uh…" again, he did not know what either of those were, and there was little else he could do but stare at her in a most confused manner. "I don't think I am part of either."

"How odd…" she stared at him, but it wasn't with apprehension, instead an even more excitable curiosity. "Are you a Nargle spy then?" she asked suddenly.

"What?"

She reached over the table and pinched at his cheeks. When nothing else happened, she crossed her arms disappointedly. "You seem to be human, at least on the outside."

"I am human."

"That doesn't explain why you don't know about Hogwarts and there is also…" she motioned towards his artificial arm.

"Ah," he raised his arm, clenching and unclenching his fist, glad to finally have something he could share, "I lost my actual arm a long time ago, this is an advanced military prosthetic. It's highly classified technology, so it's not something you see daily."

"I hope you find it someday," she replied in a hopeful manner.

"Find it?" he asked, not quite understanding what she was referring to.

"Your arm," she replied casually, "since you lost it. My father lost a toe while learning to apparate during his final year at Hogwarts. They found it a few days later in the middle of the Qudditch field. Thank goodness Madam Pomfrey was able to reattach it without problems."

And once again, Bucky found himself stuck between questioning the woman's sanity and wondering what exactly the hell was she talking about.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a few important things to note. I've changed quite a few things from the Harry Potter universe for this story to work.
> 
> First of all, you may have noticed from the summary that I've changed Luna's age to be in her early twenties, I feel it's more appropriate since we're pairing her up with Bucky.
> 
> Secondly, you may have also noticed that Voldemort's still around. He'll be the main antagonist of the story, but it's not something we'll delve into anytime soon. Think of him as the background plot device, a looming shadow of sorts, but only making his presence known in the second portion of the story.
> 
> The first portion, instead develops Luna and Bucky's relationship. I like there to be a slow but noticeable change of sorts, kind of like how he'll start to feel more comfortable around her as time passes. And of course, she has her own troubles too. But we'll get to it then, there's no fun in spoiling everything now, right? :)
> 
> Also, there is the question of "why couldn't she tell he's a muggle?" I think the most obvious answer is simply because she thinks he's not. To find him in the center of the Forbidden Forest and surrounded by rare fairy Nargles? The most obvious conclusion leads to him being a wizard suffering from short term amnesia due to Nargle feces exposure. There is no reason for her to think otherwise, so she did not entertain the thought of him being a muggle. Of course, there's a more in-depth "explanation" to her thoughts in the below chapter.

They sat in front of the warm fireplace, accompanied by the soft crackling of firewood and warmth. They were both quiet for the longest time; she with a blanket wrapped warmly around her, and he, lost within his own conflicted thoughts.

"I shouldn't stay," he broke the comfortable silence. "I don't want to intrude any further." He turned towards her, struggling momentarily to find the proper words. "You have been too kind. I don't know how I can possibly repay you."

"Why would you need to repay me, James?" she asked curiously, with quizzical eyes.

"You allowed me a place to rest, and even when I… hurt you, you did not kick me out." He was unable to hold her gaze, his eyes instead trailing towards the open flames. "You nursed me back to health, and even fed me."

It was an uncomfortable feeling, the discomfort of human interaction constructed by years of HYDRA's brainwashing and control. He felt uneasy, and it did not help that the short time they've spent together, was the most he had spent with another in a long while. He was unsure of how to behave, or even react, and it was made even worse by her… peculiarity.

"You don't have to worry, James, you're not troubling me," she said dreamily, "instead, you're quite the opposite. The truth is, I've been left alone for quite some time. It's been a long while since I've last saw anyone else in this part of the woods. If anything else, your presence itself is a refreshing sight."

"Also, it is dangerous to leave at this time," she looked towards the window, and it was pitch black outside, "the Forbidden forest is a dangerous place to travel at night."

"I can take care of myself."

"Is that how you ended up face down in my blueberry shrubs?"

"That was-…"

"James, I was only kidding," she smiled, "but not about the forest itself."

"Then… in the morning," he said, "I will take my leave first thing in the morning."

He knew she was right; between his years as the Winter Soldier and those spent fighting the Nazis in the Second World War, he had learned quite a bit about survivability. Trekking through an unmapped terrain without as much moonlight, was as dangerous as heading into the trenches of war without their combat helmet. Many of his battles were fought in vast jungles, from the frigid coldness of Russia to the sweltering heat of the Amazon; he knew of the innumerable dangers he could encounter; the rough terrains and the hidden creatures, amongst countless other factors. He would never forget the ferocity of certain encountered wild animals, from wolves in the winter to-

"Unicorns," she said.

"Unicorns?" he stuttered, sounding slightly flabbergasted.

"Yes, Unicorns," she replied. "They generally stray away from humans, but they have recently become violent. It's depressing to see something so pure corrupted by Voldemort's reach."

"Unicorns," he repeated, not quite understanding nor even hearing the second part of her sentence. "As in the ones with the… horn and..."

"Yes, those Unicorns," she smiled, "that's great, at least you remember what Unicorns are."

He could only stare at her again in disbelief.

**.**

* * *

**.**

**.**

The man was an enigmatic presence, a puzzle she couldn't quite wait to unravel. Luna Lovegood rolled across her bed for the umpteenth time, sighing at her inability to find rest; she couldn't sleep, not when there's such a fascinating tale resting in her living room. Sighing again, she pushed herself upright and slid off the side of her bed, her toes slipping gingerly into her favorite pair of fluffy slippers. Wrapping her blanket around herself, she quietly tiptoed her way to the bedroom entrance and peeked her head into the moonlit living room.

When her eyes eventually adjusted to the dimly lit room, she could make out his prone form on one of her couches. She had initially offered him her bed, it was the more comfortable choice, but he declined, insisting that the couch was enough. However, she could clearly see that he was quite a tad bigger than the couch; both his legs hung off the bottom end, draping onto the floor.

He was soundly asleep, and she soon found herself seated opposite of him, watching his chest slowly expanding and contracting with each breath he took. Luna rested her chin onto her palm, and she started to fantasize of all the wondrous possibilities to his identity. She knew he was someone either resourceful, competent, or both – a normal person wouldn't survive the dangerous trek deep into the Forbidden Forest's heart, and there was just something about his eyes, a sort of quiet intensity she couldn't quite understand.

His apparent memory loss made it even more so fascinating and exciting. He seemed confused and unsure of most things, almost like a Muggle child, but she knew he couldn't be, not with the dozens of charms and protections placed on the ancient forest hundreds of years back, preventing non-magical humans from entering the forest grounds and endangering themselves. Along with those precautions, a normal Muggle wouldn't be able to survive the many obstacles, dangers and inhabitants of the Forbidden Forest either, much less the long trek to its center.

However, temporary amnesia is a common and easily remedied symptom of exposure to Nargle feces. The usual symptoms are: fever, vomiting, explosive diarrhea, temporary amnesia, internal bleeding and death. But as far as she could tell, the fever had already passed, and he wasn't suffering from internal bleeding or death. She could only hope for his memories to return soon, as amusing as the man was, she was quite certain that in his current state, he wouldn't last even half a day in the inner zones of the Forbidden Forest.

A slight murmuring broke her out of wilder daydreams and thoughts, her attention quickly returning to the man in front of her. His body shifted around and he started to stir, but he remained completely unconscious still, and it was only after a few more uncomfortable grunts, did she realize he was experiencing a nightmare of sorts.

Luna wasn't quite sure of what she should do at that exact moment; lost between the decision of rousing him from his sleep, and leaving him to those that haunted his dreams.

Before she could decide, his hand moved, and a cushion was knocked onto the below floor. She leaned forward to retrieve it, but before she was able to reach the cushion, his hand shot towards her, his fingers latching onto her wrist.

Remembering their incident from the afternoon before, her breath caught and she instantly braced herself still. However, instead of roughly twisting onto her arm like before, this time was nothing more than a painless grip. She waited, but there came no further reaction. His breathing started to slow, and it wasn't long before he fell back into a peaceful rest; as though her arm was a comforting anchor of sorts, driving all his nightmares away.

Realizing that he still held her in a firm grip, and there was no possible way of slipping away without waking him up, she decided to allow him rest after all. She ended up reaching for another cushion and propping it by the side of the couch, finding herself a comfortable seat beside him.

She leaned her head onto the sofa's side, and it wasn't long before Luna lovegood too, was fast asleep, dreaming of warmer summers and blueberry pies.


	4. Chapter 4

_The violent stream of cold water brought him back to consciousness, and he realized he couldn't breathe. He twisted his head to the left, then right, but the stream of water was relentless. It was aimed directly at the towel draped across his face, and he was suddenly choking and coughing, his body buckling against the steel table beneath him, his ankles and his wrists painfully struggling against the restrains that held him still._

He remembered – _he was being tortured_.

To be exact, he was being waterboarded. The towel left around his face modulated the amount of water he could actually inhale, which creates the sensation of suffocating and drowning, without the risk of him actually losing his life.

They wanted him alive, not dead.

And they repeated the process for hours, suffocating him until he was unconscious, reviving him, and then repeating the action until they were satisfied.

Every single day, until he eventually broke.

It was a recurring nightmare - of his conditioning and brainwashing under HYDRA's control, and since his escape, there were many nights he woke in cold sweat, his adrenaline in full pump, half expecting to feel the chilling surface of their cryostasis chamber beneath him.

This time, it was different.

He was drowning, but suddenly, there was solace; a soothing presence, descending softly around him, freeing him from the demons that plagued his dreams.

He woke – and the morning sun filtered through the loose curtains, a warm greeting to the start of a new day.

He remembered where he was, and pulled himself into an upright position, his hands pressing against his aching temple. The headaches always followed the nightmares, though for some reason, they weren't as ferocious this time round, but more of a dull throb, which soon became nothing more than a lingering afterthought.

Then, he realized he wasn't alone.

He turned his head – and she was there, curled up next to the sofa, still lost within her own dreams. She tightly hugged the pillows she brought with her, and a line of drool trailed down the side of her chin; she was the epitome of undisturbed peacefulness, as though nothing existed in this world capable of rousing her from her sleep.

He sat there for the longest time, watching as the odd girl slept.

The feeling was surreal, a day of averageness not felt in decades long passed. Between the recurring nightmares and the minutes he had for sleep while evading the parties that hunted his trail, he couldn't even remember the last time he had a proper night's rest; and for him to be here – in a tiny cottage with someone else quietly asleep beside him, the feeling was definitely surreal.

He knew he should leave, but he couldn't quite decide if it was impolite to do so without telling her.

So he waited, patiently until she woke.

It was a few hours later when she started to stir. She stretched and yawned loudly before rubbing at her eyes. When she noticed him, she wiped away the drool and smiled groggily, "Good morning, James."

"Good morning," he replied, the simpleness of formality bringing a sudden sense of self-consciousness; he couldn't remember the last time he greeted another person.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked.

He nodded and asked, "Why are you… sleeping here?"

"I couldn't sleep at first," she said sheepishly, "so I decided to check up on you, I must have fallen asleep here."

It felt like she had left something out, but he didn't push.

After she brought her pillows and blanket back into her room, she showed him where the bathroom was, and the two of them took turns cleaning themselves up.

Then, she made them both breakfast, a mixture of potatoes and medium sized eggs he had never seen before. The shells were bright orange, and the colors of the yolk and the white were reversed. But they were delicious, and he finished them without complaints.

When she finished tidying up the dishes, he approached her – he was prepared to leave, and he wanted to say his thanks and farewells. She was a most peculiar housemate, but a kind one, and he was grateful.

"Miss Lovegoo- I mean, Luna," he said.

She turned towards him, "Yes, James?"

"I should be taking my leave. I wanted to thank you before I go. You've been-…"

It was then he realized her eyes had trailed off him, and were instead fixated on the windows behind him.

Her eyes were suddenly filled with excitement.

Before he could take a closer look at whatever it was she saw, she squealed happily and rushed off in the direction of the exit. "Follow me James!" she grabbed onto his wrist and pulled him along, not giving him the chance to decline.

They left the cottage, and came into the center of the woods. It was his first clear view of his surroundings, and the first thing he noticed was the myriad of towering trees that circled them from all corners. They reached as high as the skies, and sunlight filtered softly through their canopies above. They were in the center of an open field, a clearing of some sort, surrounded by the colossal trees. He could see tiny vegetation growing all around him, from fruits he recognized, to those of colors he had never seen in his life.

They were all growing beautifully, no doubt tended to and cared by the cottage's single occupant.

She pulled him to the back of the cottage, and pointed exuberantly in the direction of a most strange looking tree.

It stood as tall as he was, with a firm trunk and plenty of branches – but there were no leaves, it was completely barren.

There were more than a dozen in front of them.

"It's blossoming!" she said excitedly, "the pudding trees!"

For a second, he wondered if he had heard incorrectly, and in the next, something most unbelievable and magical happened.

The branches started to shake, and he stared in complete disbelief as an array of colorful puddings started to form on each of the branches. They came in all colors and sizes, and within a minute of blossoming, dozens of puddings now hung from the trees, resembling little decorated Christmas ornaments.

"You have to help me pick them before they fall!" she pressed a basket into his hands and ran quickly in the direction of the trees.

He remained in complete disbelief, watching as she reached for a pudding and plucking it off the tree.

It didn't occur to him that they left the cottage without a single basket, and it was like as though she conjured them out of thin air.

"Jameeeeees!" she wailed as a piece of pudding fell and splatted onto the ground, "they're falling!"

Pushing aside the impossibility of what was happening before his eyes, he quickly ran towards the nearest tree. He placed the basket onto the ground and removed the spatula-shaped object inside before staring at the nearest pudding. It was pinkish in color, and there was barely any resistance as he slid the pudding onto the provided utensil, then carefully tugging it free from its branch.

He leaned forward for a whiff – it smelled exactly like a strawberry and cream pudding. Carefully placing it into the basket, he removed the next pudding, it was red in color – and it smelled exactly like an apple pudding.

For the next few hours, the two of them went from tree to tree, collecting as many differently colored puddings as they can. Before long, they had six baskets filled with pudding, and as they started back in the direction of her cottage, he noticed it was getting dark again.

The sun slowly fell in the distance, and the little clearing soon lost its glow.

Night was peaking round the corner, and it would seem that he had no other choice but to stay for another night.

 _One last night,_ he told himself _, no more._

They moved into the kitchen, and he waited as she placed each pudding into a small container, then placing them into a shelf by the side, where they were neatly categorized from taste and color – it reminded him of library books.

"Won't they go bad?" he asked, finding the situation absolutely ridiculous.

"Pudding from the pudding tree don't go bad," she said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, "only pudding made from sugar and artificial flavoring would."

Her eyes widened, "James, have you… never tried a tree pudding before?"

He shook his head.

"Then what are we waiting for!?" She rushed back into the kitchen and shouted from there, "what flavour do you like? Do you want something sweet? Sour? Salty? Bitter?"

"I… I don't know," he stammered, she was getting way too excited for just pudding.

"How about… Kiwi!" she pulled out a green colored pudding. "I love kiwi."

She returned and placed the pudding in front of him, "Eat!"

He was lost for words.

Two months ago, he was mindlessly controlled by HYDRA to assassinate a visiting foreign dignitary; two weeks ago, he was violently shattering the kneecap of a HYDRA agent that stood in his way; and right now, he was in the cottage in the middle of the woods, about to eat pudding… from a pudding tree.

But as he had his first taste of the pudding, all his remaining thoughts and apprehensions were completely obliterated. His mouth instantly watered up, and a heated sensation expanded from inside him, quickly engulfing him in instant europhia.

His eyes widened in surprise, "What the…?"

"Tasty isn't it?" she said with the most satisfied smile.

There was really nothing else he could do but nod; it tasted unlike anything else, and it was absolutely delicious.

He finished it in no time at all, then she returned with two other – another for him, and one for herself.

When he was done, he noticed her gaze trailing towards the darkening outside.

"It's getting late, James," she said, "will you be staying another night?"

"I guess I am," he said apologetically, "sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," she smiled, "like I've said before, I quite enjoy the company, and I don't think I could have gotten all the puddings in one piece without your help too."

"James," she said after a long bit of silence, "do you mind if I ask you a question?"

He shook his head, "I don't."

"The nightmares you were having, could you tell me about them?"

He was momentarily taken back by her question, "My nightmares?"

"Yes," she nodded, then shyly added in, "when I was… umm, watching you sleep last night, there seemed to be… a lot of discomfort. It was like… you were in pain."

He was quiet for a moment, then he said, "They were of my… previous life."

"Your previous life?" she asked.

"When I was still a soldier," he looked away, "the things I saw… the things I did."

"I… understand," she knew it wasn't her place to pry, so instead, she reached out and softly touched his hand.

He looked back towards her, and as their gaze caught, he noticed a hint of maturity beneath her innocent eyes. She squeezed, and it was a lot more reassuring than he dared to admit.

"I've seen what war does to people," she said slowly, "I've lost a lot of my friends when Voldemort first waged war."

He did not know who she was referring to, but from the multitude of powered villains rising through the twenty first century, he assumed the man was one of those. Perhaps the UK had their own brand of Avengers to deal with the man.

"I'm sorry," he said.

They were quiet for a long while. Then, she stood, and her hands left his.

"It's been a nice day, but I'm feeling tired," she said, "I'm going to take a shower then head to bed."

"Oh and James, "she added in, "I'm a light sleeper, so if you're having nightmares again and can't sleep, I'll be happy to talk."

He nodded, though she could clearly see that he won't likely be taking her up on her offer.

"Goodnight, James."

"Goodnight, Luna."

**.**

* * *

**.**


	5. Chapter 5

He slept soundly that night, the first time in many decades passed, barely stirring even as a thunderous storm raged fiercely outside the little cottage. Turbulent winds accompanied the menacing roars of thunder, and it was like the heavens above threatened to drown the forest in a relentless flood.

The little cottage however, in the middle of the clearing with its lit interior, stood strong and unwavering even in the face of such weather, like a tiny beacon of light, refusing to be swallowed by the coming of darkness. The rain was unrelenting, but before long, even the skies could pour no longer, and the rain was no more.

The two of them slept through it all.

When he woke the next morning, he noticed she was already up, standing across from him, staring out of the window with her back towards him. She was staring at something beyond his view, and when she turned towards him, he noticed a hint of visible distress upon her features.

"Good morning, James," she smiled.

"Morning," he replied. "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Did we miss a pudding tree?" he motioned towards the window. "You seem unhappy with something outside."

"Oh, it's really nothing," she shook her head. "There was a huge thunderstorm last night, and it damaged the tool-hut."

He got up from the couch to take a closer look, heading over to the window and wiping away its condensation. The outside area was slightly flooded, but between the hanging morning dew and the radiant greenery, the night's carnage did little to diminish the surrounding's beauty. He saw the hut instantly, it was a short walking distance from the cottage, and half of the building was collapsed inwards, the wood twisted and broken by the before weather.

An idea nudged at the back of his mind, and for the first time since his arrival, he finally felt like there was something he could offer. "Let me help," he said confidently, "I can fix this."

She looked at him confusedly, before ushering him in the direction of the kitchen, "Breakfast first, breakfast is more important."

She made him some of the weird colored eggs again, along with a blue colored drink that tasted exactly like lemonade. She on the other hand, opted for a slice of yesterday's pudding.

They dug into their meal, and when she noticed the way he was staring at her food, she asked, "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head, "I'm just not used to seeing someone eat pudding in the morning."

She asked, "James, do you know what sort of people eat pudding in the morning?"

He shook his head again.

"People who love pudding," she said with a dreamy smile.

When they were done with breakfast, they headed out of the cottage, following the short trek towards the fallen hut. The damage was more apparent up close, though from his judgement, still quite salvageable. The building's foundation was still standing, all he had to do was to replace the broken wood. The first few hours were spent salvaging the still useable tools and wood, before clearing away all the torn wood and debris.

Then, Luna stepped aside as he picked up one of her father's saw (her father always preferred using his hands and not magic) and headed towards the clearing's edge. She watched curiously as he chopped into the colossal trees, his face intense with concentration. When finally satisfied with the collected wood, he lifted them onto his prosthetic arm, the amount clearly a lot heavier than the average human could carry.

While he started on the wood, she excused herself back to the cottage and returned shortly after with a jug of the blue lemonade, her oversized sunhat flapping softly in the afternoon's breeze. He was still chopping away at the downed wood, and the process was taking a lot longer than expected as they did not have all the proper tools. But he didn't seem to mind, and so, she patiently waited, using one of the fallen pieces as a makeshift stool.

Luna was sipping on her cool drink while watching him work, and for the longest time, she couldn't understand why exactly he, like her father, preferred exerting physical strength over magic; the hut could have been fixed hours before if they just casted a simple fixing spell.

However, when the sun caught his arms in a different angle, and his muscles glistened and flexed with each swing of the axe, she arrived at a sudden realization, along with a blush, of why most of her male wizard friends were a lot paler and skinnier compared to someone like him.

A few hours later, they were done, and she noticed the displeased way he was staring at the newly fixed hut. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"It feels a little bit… off, I didn't install the center beam straight enough."

"What happens if it's not straight?" she asked.

"Then the foundation might not hold," he sighed, "I might need to redo the entire thing."

"Why don't you have a drink first?" she pointed towards the jug of blue lemonade, "I'm sure you'll feel better afterwards, and we can think of a solution then."

When he headed away for a drink, Luna peeked over her shoulders and made sure he wasn't looking before slipping her wand out from her dress. She pointed it towards the slanted beam and muttered softly beneath her breath.

When he returned, the beam was completely straight. His eyebrows cocked in confusion.

**.**

* * *

  **.**

It was dark again when they returned to the cottage, and Bucky quickly realized – he was staying another night.

She seemed to have noticed too, and was waiting with a huge grin when he exited the shower.

"Staying another night, Mr Barnes?" she asked playfully. Before he could reply, she interrupted, "No apologizing this time!"

He sighed in defeat, but then she noticed it, for the first time, the briefest tug at the edge of his lips, as though the unconscious beginning of a smile.

It was an endearing sight.

They huddled near the fire afterwards and he asked, "Have you always lived alone?"

"Not always," she replied, "I used to live with my father."

"I assumed from the tools," he said, "where is he now?"

"I don't know," she said, and he noticed her head visibly dipping. "He told me he was going for supplies one day… and I've not heard from him since then. It's been a few years, and I'm still waiting."

"I… I'm sorry."

"What for?" she asked, "he's still coming back, I know he is."

They were quiet for the longest time.

"What about you?" she asked afterwards. "Where are your parents?"

"They're both gone."

"Gone where?" she asked innocently.

"Gone as in… deceased," he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-…"

"It's fine, it's been a long while," he said, "I lost them a long time ago, when I was still a child."

"That must be tough," she said, "I can't imagine growing up with parents."

"It was, but I had my friends," he said softly, "and I had a purpose."

"Had?" she asked.

He paused, not quite sure how to tell her that most of his friends from the previous century were already long dead, from either the war or of old age, and that his original purpose, long twisted and corrupted by years of HYDRA's conditioning, was something he could no longer remember.

He nodded instead, and it was more than enough, "Had."

There was something painfully solemn in his voice, and Luna couldn't help but to feel the same sense of sorrow welling up inside her chest.

She shifted in her seat, and suddenly, her hands were sliding past his shoulders, reaching behind him and gingerly pulling him into a hug.

He blinked, confused at the sudden action, but he did not push her away, and so, she squeezed him just a little harder.

Then, they separated, and it was gone, and all that remained, was a whiff of blueberries and mint.


End file.
